I would never imagine getting a tattoo before. Much less having somebody’s name tattooed into my skin.
Nonetheless, for some ideas, thoughts, and emotions human language is incapable of succinctly articulating, we still got our body to express for us most abstractions which our language faculty may sometimes be unable to make concrete.
So why would one go through a painful, permanent, and – to use my elders’ word – desecrating process just to bring a point across?
As I cannot speak for the rest, I reflected on the reasons for the tattoos (currently, I have 3. [A statement implying that my skin will be inked in the future, more or less, well, I really can’t say.]), notwithstanding of course the very obvious irony in this sentence.
Roughly a month ago, I had this one inked into my left shoulder: a simple text bordered by two lines above and below a four-letter name. I was asked why have it and why the name. I replied, “because, …(long pause) you are a permanent part of me.” I left it at that.
I would have continued on and said, “This is too small and simple a symbol for that promise of being with you until the end.” But, of course, I wouldn’t say something like this. You might find it very inconsistent to my unromantic character, I was afraid.
“None of us holds the future,” you retorted.
This, however, beggars my point. Inasmuch as it is a promise, your name tattooed into my body is a declaration that what this we both share now is too important, too life-changing, too strong I am changed by it. And in my humblest of ways, let me be reminded of this change every day.
“Just let me,” I said. “And besides, it’s a bit too late to change my mind.”
Today, the 5th of May here, the 6th there, I’m sorry if it seemed like I have completely forgotten it, I have not, how could I, remember I’m in Eastern Standard Time: Happy 16th month, babe.
I love you.